


I Will Cherish You

by kee_writestrashh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Dark, Dark Sansa, F/M, Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Ramsay lives, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee_writestrashh/pseuds/kee_writestrashh
Summary: Based loosely on this prompt: sansa&ramsay: glory&gore**This will be a very dark fic. Sansa has finally reached the end of her rope and it's time she let that wolf blood take over. Arya is not the only Stark female with a sharp bite.





	1. I Will Never Hurt Her

The anger that had surfaced. The hatred that had grown. And the revenge was at her fingertips.

Sansa Stark had been through much since the day they had left Winterfell. She was sure she would never see it again. She lost Lady. Lost her family. As far as she knew, she was it. The only Stark left. Arya had gone missing. Theon had killed Bran and Rickon. Father beheaded on the stairs of the Sept a Balor. Mother and Robb, betrayed and murdered in cold blood by the Frey’s. And somehow, by some unlucky will of the gods, old or new, she was left alive. Her and her bastard brother, Jon Snow.

Once a pretty little bird in a cage, now a woman who had been subjected to horrors she never wished on anyone.

Perhaps that was what led to this moment. Because it was not going as she had expected. She had walked into these cold, dark kennels with one idea in mind. _Kill the bastard_. However, now that the moment was here, she found a knot in her chest. Not one of regret or second thoughts, but one of sudden strength. She stood tall as she looked down at the bloody mess that was her horrible lord husband. Jon would have killed him with his bare hands, but Sansa had told him to stop. Had men take him to the kennels and tie him up. All those hounds he had named after whores he had raped and hunted like wild animals would consume him. It was like a last laugh for their namesakes. The plan already so well played out in her mind.

However, the spark of another idea had formed. The beast may have liked to flex his claws, but the wolf knew how to snap her jaws. Suddenly she found that she could not kill him. Deserve it he did. But she could not do it. And it had nothing to do with weakness.

She glared down at Ramsay who brought his bloodied, cold blue eyes to hers. He attempted a smirk, though it came off more as a grimace or look of pain. He opened his mouth to speak but found his throat and mouth were as dry as the sands of Dorne. He struggled to swallow, giving some kind lubrication to his throat. The pain slowly creeping its way into his body. Deep dull aches.

“Going… to kill… me?” He finally managed to croak. Sansa looked down her nose at him and gave a cold smirk that he would have been proud of, if maybe it hadn’t been used on him. He gave a small chuckle, “You may rid me of this world and send me to the deepest darkest depths of the hells, but I will never be gone. Not for you. I am a part of you. I have claimed you. Made you mine. You belong to me. You are Lady Bolton. And you will never forget me.”

Sansa shifted on her feet, looking around at all the hounds, who all seemed to be waiting. She then turned her eyes back to Ramsay, “You are right, lord Bolton. I will not forget you. I did come here with full intentions of killing you. And then I saw you.” It was like something deep inside of her snapped. No longer was she a bird with broken wings. No. She was a wolf. She learned a great deal from Cersei. But she learned an even greater deal from the man before her. “I saw you, and then I thought about things you’ve said. Do you remember what you told Lord Baelish?”

Ramsay managed his trademark smirk this time, “That I would never hurt you.”

Sansa gave a soft smile and a nod, “And do you remember what you first told me when it was just you and I in the hall?”

Ramsay swallowed, mouth still feeling dry, and locked eyes with Sansa, “I will cherish you.”

Sansa gave another nod, “Aye. You will cherish me. And now it is my turn, my dear husband. It is my turn to give back to you every kindness that you have given me. It is my turn to _cherish_ you.”


	2. Nascent

“You wished to see me, my lord?” Davos said quietly, closing the chamber door behind him.

Jon looked up from his drink and gave a small nod. “Aye.” He stood from his seat and walked around the table, his fingers lingering on the polished wood. Now that he was back in Winterfell, he felt it hard to keep his hands off the tangibility of it all. As if reassuring himself this was no dream. That he was indeed finally back home again. “I’m worried about Sansa.”

“As you should be. She is your sister, after all. Though, I do not think that is what you are meaning.” Davos said, watching Jon closely.

“I just mean, she has changed.” Jon sighed, casting a long look around the council chamber that had once belonged to Ned. The amount of times he and Robb and Theon had played in here. Pretending to be great lords and finalizing battle plans. He picked up a wooden piece in the shape of the Bolton sigil and held it tight in his hand before throwing it into the fireplace and watching it turn to to no more than kindling.

“She is hardly a girl anymore, Jon. She is now a woman. And not only a woman, but a woman who has been through hardships I do not think you or I could imagine. It seems that since the day you all left here the gods have not been kind to the Lady Sansa at all.” Davos said sagely, lacing his fingers in front of himself and rocking on his heels slightly.

Jon frowned, turning to Davos completely. “I don’t know what to do with her. She refuses to listen to anything I say. She has that bastard chained up in the dungeons, and I don’t understand. She was so determined to kill him. To rid him from existence, and yet, he is now a prisoner.”

Davos nodded, “Killing a man outright is hard, Jon. You know that as well as I do. Even more than that, she is a woman. She may have changed, as you say, I do not know, as I did not know her in her childhood, however, inside of her she is a Stark. She values life, even when the life does not need to be valued. If you want my advice, talk to her. I know you think she isn’t listening, but she is. She has had to do this all on her own for a very long. She has been alone since the day Joffrey Lannister took her father’s head on the stairs of the sept and made her watch. She has been tossed around like a doll. Dirtied and bloodied. You cannot fault her for learning how to use those wolf teeth you Stark’s have.”

Jon nodded, “Thank you, ser. Will you make sure everyone has everything they need?”

“Of course.” Davos said with a small bow before leaving Jon alone.

Jon gave the room one last look over before he too left. He let his feet carry him through the halls, thinking maybe he would seek Sansa out and speak with her. However, he found his boots carrying him down the cold stone steps to the dungeon. He stopped at the first cell, which held Ramsay.

“Look who it is. Lord Snow.” Ramsay chuckled darkly. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t bow and lick your boots. I’m a bit restrained at the moment.” He gave a dramatical rattle to the chains at his hands.

Jon scowled at the man before him. The man who had done atrocious things to his sister. The man who was known to hunt women for sport. A man worse than any he had met so far. “Why did Sansa not kill you?” He asked coldly, even though he knew he would not get a straight answer out of the bastard.

Ramsay shifted, bringing himself more into the light of the torches. Jon saw the twisted, cold smirk of a madman before he took in the rest of Ramsay, still caked in his own blood. Hair still matted in dried blood. Lips cracked and busted. His azure eyes shining bright against the bloodied tint that should have been white, one half swollen shut. Ramsay ran his tongue slowly along his hot, swollen bottom lip in thought and then turned his eyes completely to Jon.

“Is it so much a hard question to answer yourself?” He finally asked, challenging Jon with that damn smirk.

“If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be asking.” Jon said hotly. He was in no mood to play games. He knew he made a mistake in thinking he could get anything out of this madman.

Ramsay tutted and shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Jon glared at Ramsay, deciding he had had enough of this. He turned on his heel and started his way back toward the stairs when Ramsay’s voice stopped him mid-step.

“She is a Bolton now, Lord Snow. No longer a Stark. I have created a monster. The most beautiful monster in all of creation. She is a Bolton, and she will act as one. I am alive because she cannot kill me. She needs me. Without me, she is nothing.” Ramsay said, a harsh laugh leaving him that echoed off the cold stone walls.

Jon balled his hands into fists at his side, but ignored Ramsay’s words as he left the dungeons. However, the words would weigh heavy on him. What if he had a point? It was like Davos said, Sansa had been through things he could never begin to understand. Sansa was stronger than anyone he had ever met. Being abused by Joffrey and threatened by Cersei. Lord Baelish whispering in her ear. Ramsay Bolton her husband. All of these things, and yet, she was alive. At one time, Jon would not have given a second thought to the idea that people became monsters. That was a silly idea. But now… well, he knew the world to be different than what he had thought. Sansa no longer believed in fair maidens and noble knights. How far gone was Sansa from the girl he had once known?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now the game begins. ;)


	3. Sweet Little Wolf

Sansa sat, working on the details of a new dress she had been eager to create when a small giggle of sorts slipped past her. She gave a small amused sigh, and set her needlework down in her lap and stared out the window.

“Yes, my lady?” Brienne asked, watching Sansa.

“I was just thinking, how different things would be if I had accepted your help the first time we met.” Sansa said, giving her head a small shake and turning back to the dress. Black with a deep red stitching, the bodice adorned with red gems and intricate wolves.

“I have wondered that too. I should have been more forceful. I swore to your mother that I would protect her daughters, and I messed up my chances with both.” Brienne sighed, staring down into the tankard she held.

Sansa turned her eyes to Brienne and gave a kind smile, “You did not fail. You are here now, and I am well.”

“Are you though? Jon has expressed his concern about you.” Brienne said slowly.

Sansa gave a small snort and waved her hand dismissively, standing from her stool and returning her dress to the mannequin. “Jon is always concerned about something. He does not know how to smile even. So much like father. But even father knew when it was time to relax.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, my lady, maybe Jon is right? I am also concerned about you. You have been rather quiet since the Stark banners have gone back up over Winterfell. You made a point to keep Lord Bolton alive, and yet, have you been to see him? It’s been almost a week.”

Sansa turned to Brienne and gave her a long look, “No. I have not been to see him. Ramsay likes to play games. This is just another game to him. But he knows he won’t win. However, he will keep playing because he does not know what else to do in the face of defeat. Jon tried to argue with me about keeping Ramsay alive, but honestly, death would have been too kind. Jon doesn’t understand, because Jon is a noble fool. There is no room for nobility in the world today. I once believed in it. That there was good. But there is no good. There is no evil. Only what we do and choose to do to live another day and enjoy it. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I have a husband to visit.”

Brienne stood quickly, setting the tankard down with a loud thud, “My lady, I do not think you should go alone.”

Sansa gave Brienne a stern look. “He cannot hurt me anymore. I will be fine. I wish to speak with him alone.”

Brienne chewed the inside of her lip but gave Sansa a bow, “As you wish, my lady.”

Sansa walked purposefully through the halls, meeting no one until the top of the stairs that led to the dungeon. She held her hand out expectantly to the guard who hesitated slightly before handing over the heavy ring of keys.

“My Lady Sansa!”

The voice halted her in her tracks. She scowled deeply before picking her head up high, squaring her shoulders and turning to see Petyr Baelish hurrying toward her. “Yes, Lord Baelish?” She said in a falsely kind tone. She wished he would leave, but she still wanted to keep the Knights of the Vale under her thumb, at her disposal.

Baelish stopped before her and gave a deep bow, taking her hand a placing a kiss to the top of it. She pulled her hand back quickly, a feeling of disgust surging through her, yet her mask remained polite and kind.

“My lady, I just happened to see you passing in the hall,” ( _I bet you did_ , she thought savagely) “And I thought maybe I could accompany you?”

Sansa fought back the urge to roll her eyes, “No.” She said flatly. “I am fine on my own, Lord Baelish. Perhaps I will see you tonight at sup.”

“Are you sure, my lady? I would not mind…”

“No.” Sansa cut across him with the same dry tone. She turned sharply on her heel and continued her way down to the place that harbored her husband. Her boots echoing in the dim silence. She grabbed a torch from its bracket, only to replace it in a different slot, directly outside Ramsay’s cell. She watched him squint against the light, turning his head away as she placed the key in the iron lock of the cell door. She pulled it open and stepped inside, glaring down at the man at her feet. Unabashed that none of his chaos seemed to be worn off yet. She grabbed a stool from the corner of the cell and placed it in front of Ramsay, where she took a ginger seat on its edge.

Eyes finally adjusted, Ramsay turned his face back toward Sansa. He wore no smirk, but a simple mask of indifference that Sansa gave right back. Many moments of silence passed between them. Each waiting the other out. Sansa with her head held high and eyes emotionless. Ramsay with his games, that damn smirk creeping up.

“I had thought you had forgotten about me.” Ramsay finally spoke, leering at her as if he still held the upper hand. Maybe he did.

“Why did you kill your father? Sansa asked suddenly.

Ramsay stared at her for what felt like an eternity before he scoffed. “My father was poisoned by our enemies.”

“Like your brother, the trueborn son, died of a fever?” Sansa pressed, leaning forward slightly to better look at Ramsay’s slowly healing face.

“Yes.” Ramsay said simply, no trace of emotion crossing his face or lacing his voice.

“Did anyone tell you how her body sounded when she hit the hard, cold earth, my lord?” Sansa asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

“I assume it sounded like most crunching bones, my lady.” Ramsay said slowly, remembering how broken Myranda’s body had been.

“She loved you, didn’t she?”

“I expect so, yes.”

Sansa scoffed, “You expect so? She went out of her way for you. Did you love her back?”

There was a few long moments pause before Ramsay spoke again, “No.”

Sansa raised her brows, “No?”

“No.”

She scoot to the edge of the stool, closer to Ramsay. “Why did you kill your father?”

“I told you that--” Ramsay started but the echoing slap of Sansa’s hand across his cheek stopped him mid sentence. He recoiled quickly, gaping at her. He had not been expecting such… force from her.

“I’m growing tired of your games, Ramsay. I am done with them. Why did you kill your father?” Sansa snapped. The past week did nothing to calm her anger. If anything, it may have built up that fire more. The years of torment she has gone through. Losing her entire family. Good people. The best people. And then she came into Ramsay’s hands. What a horrible nightmare! Maybe she should have just killed the man before her. But something inside kept her from it. She just wasn’t sure why. Not yet.

Ramsay sat up straight, back flush to the wall, out of her reach. His blackened eyes taking her in slowly. There was something different about her. Maybe his words to Jon had been true. Maybe he had created a monster. He gave Sansa everything she needed to become the fall of the world. Because, maybe that was what he wanted. Someone he could mold to be like him. An equal, in sense. Not like Myranda. Myranda had too many flaws. But Sansa… oh the sweet little wolf. She had the fight. She just needed the push. “Why does it matter to you? Do you feel remorse for my father? The man who drove a knife in your brother's chest?”

Sansa tutted, looking away from Ramsay. He always thought he was so smart. So cunning. Using his ridiculous words to sound intimidating and smart. Not that she thought him daft, but he needed to marshal those thoughts and ideas. He was only half the man he thought he was. She stood suddenly, kicking the stool aside. “We will try again tomorrow. Good night, my lord.”


	4. The Games Children Play

"You are a liar, my lady." Ramsay said carelessly when Sansa entered his cell. "You did not visit me yesterday. I was much looking forward to it."

"Mm." Sansa hummed sourly, placing the stool in front of Ramsay again. "Yes, must be disappointing. To be lied to and let down. What a shame." She added tonelessly, taking her seat upon the stool and giving Ramsay an impassive gaze.

Ramsay tilted his head slightly, examining Sansa, as if seeing her in a new light. "Something is different about you." He said abruptly.

"Oh? Is it the fact that my skin wears no bruises? My eyes are not swollen and red from tears of anguish and hate? Maybe?" She snapped, narrowing her eyes at her prisoner.

Ramsay let half a smirk play at the corner of his mouth. "You kind of miss it, don't you?"

Sansa clucked like an angry hen, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. "You aren't nearly as clever as you think."

"Clever enough to get into your mind and stay alive it would seem." He said coaxingly. Trying to get a rise out of her. But the shadow of his half lived smirk faded when she didn't give into him. It was irksome and down putting to see his word games meant nothing to her anymore without his physical brutality to go with it. How her lack of emotion seemed like some kind of abrasive punishment. It Made him want to yell and scream at her.

Sansa stood again from her stool, and Ramsay found the words leaving him before he could stop them, "Where are you going?" It was demanding and accusing, but the tone did not hold it up.

"You will know that your hounds have been slaughtered, as well as your horse. Someone will come to collect you and have you bathed and clothed in clean clothes again. And you shall join me in the hall for sup. And you will remain there for as long as your tongue allows. _Unless_ you want to remain here of course, my lord." Sansa said evenly, turning her back on Ramsay. She paused for just a moment but when there was no protest she left the cell and made her way topside of the castle again.

She connected gaze with Jon as he was passing and she returning through the doorway. Jon frowned. He was still unsure about this whole situation. But Sansa would not hear a word against it. It wasn't healthy as far as Jon was concerned. Or maybe he was just tired and wary of the world around him. How often he dreamed of going back to the day they all went their separate ways. He and Sansa may not have gotten along, however, if he knew how her life was going to go, he would have traded everything to keep her from the horrors she has endured. 

"Ramsay shall join us for sup." She said shortly to Jon.

"Why?" John asked, frown deepening and brow now creasing.

"Because I said so. I am the Lady of Winterfell. And I wish him to join us for sup. Send for someone to clean him up and dress him. Now."

Jon heaved a sigh but nodded, "Of course."

With that Sansa left him to it. She had decided she would visit the peace and quiet of the Godswood. Though, she wasn't sure she believed in gods of any kind anymore. She thought that more than anything, she visited the wood to feel close to her father again. She no longer prayed for the safety of her family. With Rickon shot down on the battle field, it was only her and Jon left. There had been no word of Arya since the day Joffrey took their father's head. And if Rickon was found, but there was no Bran with him... then Bran must have been dead as well. There was just no getting around it. Sansa was the last Stark, just as Ramsay was the last Bolton. 

"My lady Sansa!" Came a voice behind her. Gods how she hated that annoying voice. She didn't even bother to stop walking as Baelish caught up to her. She had been doing so well to avoid him the last day, and it seems the predator found his prey again. She wanted to scream at him. He was wearing what little of her kindness she had left in her, away. Like the ocean at the rocky cliff. "My lady if I could have a word?"

"What?" Sansa snapped like an angry dog. "What is it that you could possibly _want_ , Lord Baelish?"

Baelish hesitated, clearly taken aback before he let his annoying grin appear. "You are just like--"

"My lady mother. Yes, you've told me. _Many_ times. Now if you have only come to remind me of my dead mother, who was betrayed with my dead brother, by one of the very families you sold me off to, who is also responsible for another of my dead brothers, go away. I am busy."

"I actually came to ask you what you're next plans are? Now that Winterfell is rightfully yours again." Petyr went on.

Sansa paused in her step, turning to look at Baelish in contempt. "Winterfell was always rightfully mine. Even when the flayed man banner flew above the towers."

"Of course, my lady, I only meant that--"

"I'm busy. Perhaps later." Sansa snapped across him again. And she left him there looking dumbfounded. 

\---

"I saw your spat with Lord Baelish, my lady." Brienne said, watching the handmaiden adjust Sansa's dress before they set off to sup.

Sansa heaved a frustrated sigh, and turned to Brienne with a deep frown. "I've honestly no idea what to do with him. Winterfell is ours yes, but I feel it would be unwise to let the Knights leave and let Baelish leave."

"What do you mean?" Brienne asked, opening the door for Sansa as they left the chambers together.

"I mean, I do not trust Baelish. My cousin is a mere boy who was sheltered too long. He cannot control the seat in which he sits. He is simply Baelish's little puppet. And what's more, we all know Baelish cannot be trusted. He is looking for a power move. And he would be pressing more if Ramsay was dead. If my husband was dead, I would be fit for marrying, again. Which means that Winterfell would be needing a new lord. A new Warden of the North. As ironic as it sounds, Ramsay being alive is _my_ security. Baelish has had his eyes set on me since I first arrived in King's Landing, as a child. And he will not stop until he has what he wants. And I will deny him until my dying breath." Sansa said quietly, and forcefully to Brienne as they made their way down the deserted hall. Sansa's eyes shifting constantly at every door and corner they passed.

Brienne was not stupid and knew not to press the matter in the open. The Bolton's may no longer be a threat, but it would be stupid to not think that Baelish did not have spies about the castle. She simply nodded and allowed Sansa to enter the hall before her.

Sansa took her usual seat. The one in which her own mother used to sit. The hall was full and loud. As thankful as Sansa was for the uniting of the North to her cause, she wished they would all disperse soon. Winterfell did not hold the food to keep hosting so many houses and their armies. Not with Winter so close. The War of the Five Kings, as they called it, had left the North in a complete state of emergency, and then the sacking of Winterfell had caused a great deal of damage too. The North was poorly suited for the winter coming, and it was promised to be a long, cold hard one. A dark one. 

Jon entered the hall shortly after, and a small ripple of hush crossed the room when Ramsay entered with Jon. In the light of the room, Ramsay looked worse for ware, and this made Sansa smile coyly inside. The bruises may be fading, and the cuts healing, but he looked diminished. And the sullen look he wore, like a scolded child, only made her want to giggle. 

Jon deposited Ramsay in the empty seat on Sansa's left side and then took the seat at the head of the table where Ned once sat. This made Ramsay scowl. That was _his_ seat! He earned it! He gave a haughty sniff and stared down at the table as the murmuring and whispers turned back to regular conversation. Sansa watched Ramsay out of the corner of her eye. She knew better than to feel sorry for him, or to take his newfound silence seriously. He was still playing a game. Waiting on her to make a slip up so he could rip her throat out.

"How do you feel, my lord?" Sansa asked kindly, reaching for the goblet placed before her.

Ramsay shot her a glare, but hitched his twisted grin. "I feel much better. Your kindness goes too far. You are much too kind, my lady."

Sansa snorted, watching the servers bring about the food, and leaning forward in her seat a little to make note of the look the Baelish wore now that Ramsay was in the hall, sitting beside her. "I have had a room set up for you. A bed to sleep in once again." She continued, turning her eyes back to Ramsay.

Ramsay ran his tongue slowly along his bottom lip, picking apart her words. Trying to find what kind of message was hidden behind them. There had to be some catch. Of course, he knew there would be guards. In chains or not, he knew he would never get a moment alone, away from someone watching him, ready to make the final blow. But what he couldn't figure out was what Sansa was getting out of it. He never did anything out of his false kindness unless he knew it would get him something he wanted. But Sansa? She was so very different from him, as much as they were the same. He simply nodded, tucking into his food, and trying to not let anyone know just how amazing it was to eat warm food again. Be clean again. Be warm again.

Sansa watched him, turning to her own food and drink. Though, she said nothing else. What was there to say, though? What really could she say to the man who abused her because he claimed simply to enjoy it? Was that the truth of the matter? He just enjoyed it? Sansa kept telling herself, that wasn't true. There had to be something else there. Or maybe she put too much thought into it. Maybe, even still, after everything he had done, she wanted to see the good in him. Because while she tried to make herself believe she did not believe in such things anymore, she couldn't find it in herself to believe that people were just 'evil'. She often thought that if Joffrey hadn't been manipulated and corrupted by his mother he may not have been the way he was. Everyone was a product of their environment. What was Ramsay's?

However, Sansa was pulled from all of these thoughts when she realized that Jon had started talking. Talking of whatever it was that was beyond the Wall. Whatever it was that winter was bringing. It wasn't that she didn't believe him, it was that she wasn't willing to. If what Jon said was true, and she had never known Jon Snow to be a liar, that meant whatever was coming... there was no place safe. That's all she wanted, a safe place. To be truly safe. Like when she was a child. How her mother's arms and father's deep words were her comfort. How she had known no comfort since the day she left Winterfell.

Jon spoke of the dragonglass, of Dragonstone, and this Targaryen woman. It made Sansa frown, but Ramsay watched Jon with rapt attention. This caught Sansa's notice, and she couldn't help but wonder what kind of things were circling in Ramsay's head. Where a short while ago there was a dullness to those shards of ice, they now glittered with lively amusement. Perhaps he really wasn't as beaten as she had half hoped. He would be hard to break, maybe even impossible. But she had to try. For her safety, and the North.


	5. Throw the First Stone

The hall was nearly empty when Sansa turned to Jon. "You didn't think to tell me any of this in private before announcing it to the whole hall?" She hissed.

"What was there to discuss before hand, Sansa?" Jon asked.

"Winter is here Jon. We need to prepare our people for it." Sansa said, almost shrilly. "It's what Father had been teaching us our whole lives. You should have told me you made a decision on the summons before you announced it to the whole hall! It's a trap, you cannot trust the Targaryen woman. Everyone in the hall agrees!"

"If we cannot kill the White Walkers there will be no one left to prepare for winter, Sansa. Don't you understand that? I have to do this. Father would have done it." Jon said, voice raising slightly.

"You will die just like Father!" Sansa said, standing from her seat quickly

Ramsay snorted, slouching in his seat and examining the last few droplets of the spiced wine in his goblet. Both Sansa and Jon shot him dirty looks before going back to glaring at one another.

"Then what would you have me do, Sansa?" Jon asked, slowly rising from his seat.

"Not go! You are the King in the North. Our people need you. You cannot abandon them." Sansa shot hotly.

"I'm not abandoning them! I'm trying to protect them! I have left you in charge of the North in my absence. What more do you want, Sansa?"

Sansa swelled up as if she were ready to burst, but she just let out a sigh, sitting back down and staring at her plate. Jon let out his own sigh, but he left the table and the hall completely.

"You gonna eat that?" Ramsay asked, nodding to the untouched lemon cake on Sansa’s plate.

Sansa raised a brow, looking from sweet to her husband. "Go ahead." She said, waving him away dismissively.

"Youge'oo'motional." Ramsay said through a mouthful of the cake.

Sansa turned back to him and gave him a repulsed look, "You are disgusting." 

Ramsay swallowed the mouthful, eyes streaming slightly, grabbing his goblet, only to remember that it was empty. He snatched hers up and took a long drink, letting out a satisfied sigh and setting the goblet back on the table. He gave a tut and turned his attention back to Sansa, who still watched him in contempt and distaste. "You get too emotional. He doesn't deserve it."

"I spared your life, and you didn't deserve it." Sansa snapped.

”Aye. I’ve done terrible things to you.” He replied giving a slow nod and reaching for another cake on her plate.

Sansa scoffed, pushing the plate closer to him. Feeling the eyes of Littlefinger on her across the hall. One of the few still lingering. She shot him a glare and he turned his eyes away, head in a small bow to hide his smirk before he left the hall.

”But, I’m right. He doesn’t deserve your feelings.” Ramsay said very matter-of-factly, licking the sugar from his fingertips. How absolutely glorious real food was again. To eat as much as he pleased.

”Spare me your wise words on feelings, my lord.” She grumbled irritability, starting to regret her decision to let him join them for sup. Even if he had held his tongue and said nothing in the slightest. It unnerved her slightly at how perfectly silent he had been up until this point.

”I am only telling you what I see, my lady.” He said with a half shrug, motioning to a server to fill his goblet. He took a sip and turned his attention to Sansa. “If he cared, he would have told you before you were left looking like a fool in front of the room. He made you look weak and hotheaded in front of those people who are to follow your orders. He wants the North to himself. To undermine you. He’s already undermining you.”

 Sansa gave Ramsay her full attention, her eyes narrowing at him. "Jon is not undermining me. He is my brother. He would never do that."

"Wouldn't he?" Ramsay asked, his crooked grin in place, watching Sansa closely.

"No." Sansa said firmly, no longer leaving it up for debate. "He has done everything he can for me. He helped me take Winterfell back."

Ramsay cocked his head slightly, smirk more prominent now. "Did he do it for you? Because I didn't hear them calling you the Queen in the North? I didn't hear them begging you not to leave. I didn't hear them--"

"That's enough, Ramsay." Sansa cut across him. 

Ramsay simply nodded. He didn't say anything more. He didn't have to say anything more. Sansa still did respond to his words after all. Good. He needed that. Needed to get back at that bastard for uprooting his life. And what better way to get back at him than to plague Sansa's mind with insecurities? He would have to go about it carefully, however. She was not stupid. He knew that. Since her flight from Winterfell to the safety of her bastard brother at the Wall, she had become different somehow. And yet, she was still tenderhearted. Had the opportunity to kill him, and yet she backed down. No doubt she had plans for him, but he had plans for her too. 

"If you are done with me, my lady, I think I would much like to retire to my chambers and sleep." he finally said, breaking the silence between them.

Sansa rose from her seat and gave a nod, without looking at him. "As you will then, Lord Bolton." She motioned for the guards to come take him away. She watched him leave with more grace and dignity than she had yet to see from him. He was up to something. Second thoughts creeping in about leaving him alive. But she was home now. The Stark banners flew once again from this castle. It was her's. She was safe. Ramsay could no longer hurt her. When he had disappeared from her sight through the doors she made her leave too. 

She made her way through the halls to her chambers, catching a servant and requesting a hot bath be drawn. The silence in the castle making her remember the times she had as a child. Her and Jeyne running through the halls giggling. Sweet Jeyne, where was the poor girl now? She passed a window that overlooked the training yard. How Robb and Theon would practice their sparing with Jory and Ser Rodrick. Oh Robb, how could you have been a fool and start a war? How would her life be if Robb had succeeded? And Theon, the things that happened to you, you stupid young man. Betrayal and mutilation. 

She paused thinking about Theon. They had gone their separate ways. Had he deserved all that Ramsay had done to him? Part of her said yes. And yet part, the part that also spared Ramsay's life, said no. People make mistakes. And this brought her back to thinking about the rest of her family. Mistakes. Gods how she had made so many. Her stupid childish fantasies. How horrible she had been to Arya, especially after leaving here for King's Landing. She should have tried harder. Then sweet Bran and Rickon. How she couldn't even bare to see Bran before she left, to tell him goodbye. Baby Rickon, so innocent and carefree when they had parted ways. And now he was dead and cold, and in the crypts with the rest of her family.

She found tears cooling her warm cheeks as she turned away from the window and continued her journey to the safety of her chambers. All she wanted was to hide away and bury her face in her mother's skirts and sob until there was nothing left to feel or cry over. To apologize for all that had happened. The letter Cersei forced her to write. Betraying father because she thought she was saving him. Begging for mercy before all of King's Landing, and all the gods. 'Oh mother, please forgive me for what I have done!' She thought desperately, fighting back the tears. Her lady mother, so strong, and beautiful, and betrayed with Robb at the Twins. If only she could see them all again. Hug them all. Kiss them all. Feel her mother brushing her hair. 

The hot bath helped to warm her and relax her body, but it did little to soothe her mind. A heavy sigh as she climbed out of the now lukewarm water. A servant girl bringing linens quickly to dry of the Lady of Winterfell. Sansa went through the motions of drying and dressing, letting the girl brush her hair until it was satin smooth. Her mind lingering on Jon's words now. He was such a noble fool. Even if the Dragon Queen had not set him up with a trap, he was not likely to leave with his head. He would not surrender the North to her, right? He had helped her gather strengths to remove the Boltons from Winterfell. Had helped restore the North to its rightful state. He wouldn't just hand it over to a woman they knew nothing about, who's father had intentionally killed her grandfather and uncle. Whose son had stolen away her aunt and left her to die. It would be an uneasy night of sleep. Doubts filling her mind. A need to scream. A need to break things.


End file.
